


that one where sam is ten days free of the cage

by rei_c



Series: The Genderfluid(ity) 'Verse [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Female Sam Winchester, Flashbacks, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Season/Series 06, Supportive Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 10:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13679427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rei_c/pseuds/rei_c
Summary: Sam's been awake for ten days. Nothing feels real.





	that one where sam is ten days free of the cage

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry, I hate this, forgive me.

She feels insubstantial. Sometimes she looks at her hands and doesn't believe that they're her own, that she controls them, that they exist on a plane where -- where -- that they exist on a plane where -- 

"Sam." 

She flinches, spins so fast that she nearly falls over, vision turning split-second black. She reaches out to steady herself on the bathroom counter and half disbelieves that her hands connect with the counter, keep her upright. She expects her bones to sink through matter, to be as thin and light and non-corporeal as she feels; she overcompensated when she reached out. Her wrist jars with the shock. She hears two fingers crack. 

"Jesus, Sam, I'm -- it's me, okay? It's just me, it's Dean, it's okay." 

Dean's there, wrapping arms around her. She stands stock still in his hold, waits for the initial burst of pain to come from being this close to the unparalleled starburst Grace of -- no, this is Dean, it's not Lucif -- _him_ fucking with her again, this is _Dean_ , this is -- 

She gives, in that moment. Her entire body relaxes into Dean's, and even though she doesn't hug him back, doesn't cling tight to him the way that he is to her, he knows she wants to. He can tell. If she didn't know better, she'd say that the things Luci -- _he_ broke apart in her with his possession, with his takeover, with his _use_ of her, with his -- if she didn't know better, she'd say that there are things inside of her reaching out for Dean, things that he can feel, things of hers that twine in tight with things of his. But she does know better. L -- _he_ tore her apart. Half of the way she feels -- pieces, floating, in a void of darkness and blood and power -- happened before she ever went to -- before. What happened after only drove those broken, shattered pieces of her further apart. 

Death glued them back together; Dean told her that. She can feel it, sometimes -- the glue. It's drier, less sticky, than she feels is safe. 

There's more about their bargain with Death than Dean's told her. He probably never will. She can't blame him.

"Sorry," she whispers. "I think I -- my finger, I think I broke it. Maybe two of them? I don't -- I don't know." 

"We'll take care of it," Dean says. "Just -- you were taking an awful long time in here, Sam." 

In here. In -- the bathroom. That's right; she's supposed to be taking a bath. "The water's probably gone cold," she says. 

Dean doesn't say anything about her tone of voice, how blank it feels, how blank she feels, a cover on top of a raging abyss of terror and pain and rage, so much rage that sometimes the anger outweighs the fear. Those are the good moments. Those are the times she can get up and go downstairs and eat and talk to Bobby and kiss Dean. Those hours don't last long right now but maybe -- maybe someday they will. 

It's only been ten days. Ten days for _her_ , anyway; she knows her body's been -- _awake_ , for longer than that. She doesn't remember much of that time and she feels thankful in a way that she doesn't recognise. 

"Hey," Dean says. "Sam, hey, come on, look at me." 

She does. His eyes are open to her, filled with the kind of love and concern that she used to revel in. Now, the sight makes her feel small, unworthy. Dean shouldn't look at her that. He shouldn't -- "I'm sorry," she says. She can feel the tears coming and thinks that she never used to be this weak. She _shouldn't_ be this weak, she's no good to anyone like this, no good, and Dean should've left her by now to get back on the road, should've left her in -- should've left her _there_ , should not have brought her back up to a world that she doesn't understand, gone too harsh and bright and loud after millennia of Luc -- of hell. 

No, not hell. Worse than hell. A cage outside of even hell's control. Beyond hell's control. God's idea of solitary confinement -- and ideas that come from the most creative imagination in existence are -- expansive. 

Someday, maybe, she'll be able to talk about it. One day it might not haunt her the way it does now, still, a haunting that is its own possession, in a way. Someday she'll be exorcised of this fear, scrubbed clean and raw deep inside from the violation of Lu -- of _his_ touch and Grace and -- and -- someday.

"I'm sorry," she says, again, again, again, again, forever and ever _again_.

Idly, in the back of her mind, she realises she's screaming. 

Again.


End file.
